The One With the World Cup
by TagTheScullion
Summary: Will doesn't understand why Nico's being so unreasonable about something so silly. But he wouldn't be Will Solace if he didn't try to make his boyfriend feel better. Cameos of Jason, Percy, and Hazel.


**Hi, again. This is actually about last year's World Cup, which I admit to not have watched fully. But I did write it before, and totally forgot to post it. I was looking around my docs the other day, and found it. It's sort of a sequel to "The One With the Soccer Match" but it's not necessary to read that one before.**

**PJO belongs to Rick. And I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Will was terribly confused. Everything was going great lately. He was getting enough patients to start making a name for himself, they were finally paying off the loan they'd taken to buy their flat. Hell, there hadn't been a monster attack in his or Nico's presence for the past few months -that on itself was worth celebrating-.

And yet Nico had suddenly shut off one day. It happened a few weeks before. One evening, he'd come back from the clinic to find Nico, arms crossed tightly, frown deepening his features, TV on some indistinct channel flickering colorful lights that reflected everywhere.

At first he thought somebody had made some provoking comment at the restaurant Nico worked in. Sometimes customers were terrible, orders unnecessarily complicated, and Nico had never been the most patient demigod to begin with. But then, Will saw _The Jersey_.

'The Jersey' had started as a sort-of-joke, or unaggressive warning. Whenever Nico wore the blue soccer jersey, Will was recommended to keep quiet, avoid teasing Nico on his Italian swearing and, overall, to accept it was Nico's turn with the TV, and nothing and no one was allowed to change the sports channel.

That was fine, usually. Will had learnt that Nico's mood was very dependent on soccer. He was okay with the periodical soccer match. It brought Nico joy -most of the time- and it only required a couple of hours spent every Saturday or Sunday. The blue jersey often even meant that Nico watched matches really early and then went back to sleep -something to do with time difference, Will guessed-.

Now, the frown Nico was wearing that day... _that,_ he couldn't understand. Teams lost, whatever, life went on, and Nico agreed. He always got over it a few hours -and two or three beers- later.

This time, however, Nico had broken the record of snappiness. Not that Will counted or anything, it was simply impossible to ignore any longer. Two weeks and he hadn't managed a single smile, much less a good laugh, out of his boyfriend. Not to mention that his physical distance was starting to make _Will_ edgy.

At some point, on the twenty second day of Nico's andropausal state -again, Will didn't usually count the number of bad days, he was just getting worried-, he decided to call for help.

His first options by default were Hazel, Percy, and that one guy from work who was real close to Nico and Will was absolutely not jealous of.

He went for Hazel and Percy because he didn't want the guy from work -what was his name again? Will never remembered- to come home to talk to _Will's_ boyfriend, thank you very much.

"I'm sure it's something dumb, like that series he liked getting cancelled," Hazel suggested.

"Perhaps he's done with that job of his and wants to switch but doesn't want to worry you," Percy offered.

Will knew it was neither of those. Sure, Nico's heart had broken when Agent Carter was cancelled. He insisted that woman was the only one he would ever love, "like, love _love_" had been his exact words.

And his job was actually not that bad, he liked working as a cook, he said his Nonna would've been proud of him teaching those_ yankees_ how pesto was really done.

The answer came from Jason, which surprised Will. Perhaps it shouldn't have surprised him, Jason was rather good at reading people.

"You say he was upset after a match," Jason had stated. "Hasn't he been complaining about Italy being on the line for a while?"

Will had stared mutely at the son of Jupiter.

"On the line of what?"

Jason shrugged, "I'm not a particularly big soccer fan, but the World Cup's next year, right? If they're left out, that would piss him off."

And so Will had the unhappy task of proving the hypothesis.

He decided he needed Nico in as good -or less bad- mood he could get him in. That meant fettuccine take-out from that place round the corner ("Only place in New York where you can get_ quattro formaggi_ for real, and not that fake mozzarella thing you guys eat"), the AC at the right temperature ("If it's too cold my fingers hurt but if it's too hot I sweat, and I hate nothing more than sweating"), and his blue button-up he knew Nico loved ("It makes your eyes look awesome, you should always wear that when we go out").

And so he was ready for Nico when he walked through the door.

Nico sniffed the air as soon as his face peaked through the entrance. He offered a smirk for a second but then dropped it when he saw the pasta. He groaned and threw himself in the couch, face covered by his arm.

"No pasta," he begged.

"Aw, c'mon," Will crouched to his side, trying to lift Nico's arm from his eyes. "You _love_ Martinelli's fettuccine. You once expressed your desire of exchanging my soul for a never-ending coupon for that fettuccine."

Nico raised an eyebrow and glanced at Will only to groan again and turn to the side.

"No blue under my roof," he demanded.

"_Our_ roof," Will corrected. "How come you make rules and I don't?"

"You're happy and I'm not."

Will rolled his eyes. His boyfriend was just too fond of dramatics.

"All right," he said at last. "Off with it, so Italy lost. Big deal! What's the matter with it? Your teams have lost before, you get over it quickly enough."

Will had said pretty dumb stuff over the years. One did not get past summers surrounded by over 20 siblings without being called out on stupidity. But nothing, _nothing_ he had ever said, had guaranteed him such a look full of cynicism.

"Okay, not my best speech, my bad," he tried as he saw his boyfriend shaking his head slowly. "But cut me some slack here, I think we've established I'm really bad at sports."

Nico sighed and nodded, "You're right. Sorry I've been a bum all this time."

Will took one of his hands in both of his, "I _know_ you care about this, and I find it adorable. I just don't think it's healthy for you... at least, whatever _this_ is."

Nico gave him a look full of honesty, more emotion than Will'd received in the past whole month from the son of Hades.

"I know how foolish it must sound to you," Nico admitted. "It's... well, Italy's pretty good at soccer. It moves us, as a country. It used to when I was a kid, it does now. It's like... a little piece of home, I guess, which hasn't changed, you see?"

He sat on the couch and patted the spot next to him for Will to join him.

"And not getting into the World Cup? That's big," Nico explained. "Big in not a good way. This is my thing, y'know? I see these games, I let go of my stress and anger, and I yell at them because they can't listen –and it's honestly very therapeutic, you should get a sport to yell at-."

Will chuckled engrossed in his boyfriend's speech. He'd never thought of it that way. Which is to say, yes to the stress relieving part. Will watched Dancing With the Stars, he knew what yelling at people who couldn't listen felt like. But he'd never taken into account it was something Nico did as a kid.

He pictured 40's Nico sitting next to a radio, side by side with a sister he'd been robbed of, and a mother he had trouble remembering. He could see why it mattered.

"Were they good when you were a kid?" he asked. "Italy, did they win tournaments?"

Nico smiled. A real smile. Will silently celebrated his little victory.

"We won the World Cup twice, _son_," he huffed in the most condescending manner Will knew him to be able to fake.

Will put his head on Nico's shoulder, remaining quiet so that he'd keep talking. The son of Apollo cherished whatever stories his boyfriend told him of his childhood. Nico wasn't the biggest fan of sharing, less so when it came to his pre-casino life.

"I remember one of those two times," the brunet grinned suddenly. "I must have been... six? I was so young! The last World Cup before the war. Mamma, Bianca and I listened to the matches on the radio, but for the final we had joined my Nonno and Nonna at their house, some of my school friends came, too. We were so excited! There wasn't much to celebrate anymore. I don't remember much, because I was too small to know what was going on, but I remember my mother hadn't been that happy for a while. She loved the sport."

Will stared at Nico while he spoke, his grin had only widened. His features had softened as he spoke of a time he clearly considered less troubled. Will stroke Nico's knuckles with his thumb, anything to keep him talking. He looked so peaceful...

As Nico spoke of the celebration that followed that win, Will got an idea.

* * *

Not three weeks later, Nico threw the keys on the key-bowl they never got to replace. Thinking of buying a key holder, because a bowl was just sad, he almost ran over Will's legs, which were dangling from the armchair's side.

His eyes widened as he saw what was in front of him. An old radio. An old radio he would bet his life Will had researched to be a pre-WW2 model.

"What... what's this?"

"Well, I thought that even if Italy didn't participate, we could still listen to the matches," Will smiled invitingly. "I'll admit I'm rather fond of TV, but I've always wanted to listen to a game on the radio, how vintage is that?"

Nico felt a grin of his own forming on his face. Will's smile was simply contagious. His charming Will with his crazy, loving ideas, what had he ever done to deserve him?

"I _know_ you want your own team kicking butt," Will was saying. "I have, however, researched what teams those players you like from Barcelona play in. Like that guy you're in love with!"

"I'm not in love with him, absolutely not," Nico defended himself. "I'd sell my soul for his talent? Sure, I would. He's the best player in the world after all."

Will rolled his eyes and mouthed, "In love."

"Whatever the case," the son of Apollo interrupted before Nico could come up with a retort. "He plays the World Cup. That other dude who bites other players? Also plays! And they both play in different teams, that's at least like, what? Ten matches, we've got lots to hear on this..."

Nico kissed him before he could keep talking.

"Thank you," he smiled against Will's lips before kissing him again.

_For everything_, he hoped Will understood. For being there, and for tolerating his soccer addiction, and for going out of the way to bring a little piece of home to this century.

He was absolutely, hopelessly in love with that silly ray of sunshine, and Italy could never again play a World Cup in his lifetime if he had Will to support his yelling at the tiny people on TV who couldn't hear either way.

* * *

**I'd love to know more about soccer, I really do, but the idea was more for it to be fluffy than anything else. Italy did indeed win two WCs back in the 30s, one of which I imagine Nico could've remembered. What I totally made up (because I couldn't find actual info) was that it was possible to listen to matches live on the radio back then. I hope it was. And I hope old radios could be made to work nowadays. **


End file.
